


The Repair Shop

by HungLikeARainbro



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Alternate Canon, Artist Rimmer, Cats, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Confessions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Mechanical Lister, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Paint wrestling, Pining, Rimmer is OOC but it's explained, Singing, Slow Burn, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2020-06-23 13:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19702546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HungLikeARainbro/pseuds/HungLikeARainbro
Summary: Lister discovers that Rimmer was fired because of him whilst he was in stasis. He's hiding on Earth with Frankenstein and the kittens, and Lister is eager to both pay off his debt to him and find out more about this new smiling relaxed version of the smeghead he thought he knew.





	1. First Summer: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> **I apologise to Cat and Kryten, for constantly ignoring them in my stories.**

Lister had to admit to himself that he was nervous when he knocked upon Rimmer's door, although perhaps it was more of a rumble of anxiety, and also the term 'door' was a tad grand for the pile of planks nailed together and thrust against the door frame. There was a sign hanging from it that informed anyone wishing to see the proprietor that they should go around the back. _Back of what_ , thought Lister. It was a crumbling old brick building that had once possibly served as a mechanics’ garage. He walked around and saw that it was indeed an old garage. From within it came the humming sound of machinery on standby. The decrepit roller door was stuck halfway up so Lister ducked underneath. It was brighter inside than he thought it would be as it was full of lamps highlighting the readied machines and plethora of furniture. Some pieces were in complete disrepair, some looked half finished. Most had the beginnings of intricate patterns on them.

Lister found himself staring at the odds and sods for a long time; he simply had to blink and it seemed like something new appeared. He didn't dare touch any of it. He'd done enough damage to Rimmer’s life.

When Lister came out of stasis on the Red Dwarf he was asked again about his Cat. He was greatly relieved that they hadn't found her and dissected her, and remained adamant that he didn't know what they were talking about. He was terminated on the spot and they arranged for him to be escorted back to the nearest human-inhabited body. He went back to his bunk room and was shocked to find only his belongings still there.

That was how he found out Rimmer had also been fired.

He got the full story from Todhunter when he pestered the HR department. Rimmer had thrown a fit when some crew members had descended upon his room for a surprise inspection. He barked out his rights and (incorrect) JMC directives pertaining to the situation. He was hauled away for a quiet night in solitary. Then they interrogated him about the cat. He told Hollister exactly where he could stick the cat if he ever found it. As an employee with a higher position than Lister he was expected to behave with more decorum, and with no-one to vouch for his character, he was offered no lenience in the matter.

It just wasn't like Rimmer, Lister had thought to himself at the time and ever since. Licking boots was his favourite pastime. He'd never throw away twelve years’ long service over a search and arrest, and especially not over a cat.

But here Lister was, on Earth of all places. Rimmer had left very little of a trail. He left the Corps, withdrew all his savings on Io, and wandered off with only a suitcase. All his books, uniforms, treasures – packed up and stored at his parents' home and apparently not for _gratis_. He gave them a year's rent and vanished.

Fortunately for Lister, Rimmer had a way of making people remember him. He only had to flash his former superior's ID card at someone and they'd go _oh him_ and point Lister in the right direction whilst simultaneously begging him to reconsider following it.

Two months later and the breadcrumbs lead him to a small Cornish town on Earth. The last guide – a dapper young man who obsessively twirled his moustache like a silent movie villain – had actually smiled at the picture. "Ah yes, that's Arnie, but don't tell him I called him that. He lives in the old chop shop, past the art gallery. I have an exhibition there this week. You should go have a look-see."

Lister had wanted to find out more about Rimmer's new life from the artist but decided it would be better to hear from the man himself. If he was even still there. Lister was beginning to think only furniture and machines lived in the building. As if by magic the mere thought of Rimmer summoned him from inside a large closet.

Lister gulped. This couldn't possibly be Rimmer, wearing a glue and oil stained t-shirt and washed out jeans. He had given up on putting products in his hair and it fluffed out in every direction except where paint had found its way in and matted it down.

"Aha, Listy!" Rimmer said in a strange tone and wearing a strange expression. It took Lister a second to realise he was happy to see him. Rimmer wiped his hands on his jeans – on his _jeans_ , Lister reeled – and then picked up a Phillips-head. "I thought you'd be here sooner," he added, fiddling with a box of screws.

"You must be joking," Lister finally said after the shock had lessened. "You could have been anywhere in the galaxy."

Rimmer frowned. "I sent you very simple and clear instructions on where to find me in my letter."

"What letter?"

"I sent you a letter for when you got out of stasis. I couldn't send it before in case the bastards in charge rootled through your mail."

"When'd you send it?"

"About a month ago."

"I've been out two months." Lister chewed his lip and watched as Rimmer's face played out several emotions, none of which were positive. Eventually he settled on 'resigned'. Lister shrugged sheepishly at him. "Well, I'm here now."

Rimmer squinted at him curiously. "Yes you are. Why?"

"Dunno. Wanted to make sure you were okay. You fell off the face of every planet except Earth. Seems odd."

"The letter explained everything. But never mind. The important thing is you're here and you can take back your property and I can get on with my life."

"Property?"

Rimmer stuck two fingers in his mouth – _oily painty fingers_ – and created an ear-piercingly shrill whistle. There was a gentle but determined padding noise and Lister saw five cats dash through his legs into the workshop.

Lister was immediately enchanted. "Izzat Frankie and the babes?"

"Yes, and you owe me around $£6000 for their care, including vaccines and getting fixed. I have a detailed bill somewhere with the exact figure. Not to mention the hassle of hiding them and smuggling them. But I've decided to waive that because I'm sooo nice."

_Ah_ , thought Lister when he saw Rimmer's smug face. _That's the git I remember_. "Mate, honestly, what you've done for me and the cats is amazing. But I don't even have 6pc on me, let alone six grand."

"Don't you have any savings at all from working on Red Dwarf?"

"Cost enough just to get here."

"I see," said Rimmer slowly. The cats were mewing and winding around his legs frantically so he bent down and pulled some food out of a cupboard. "That puts a damper on things."

"M'sorry," said Lister. "They must be eating you out of house and home."

"Not really. It was more the principle."

Lister went over and scratched the head of one of the cats. He was fairly certain it was Frankenstein. "How about this Rimmer; if you can hang on for a bit longer then I'll pay you back in full, and any interest you want to add."

"Lister…"

"I swear man! I'll get a job and send you whatever child support I can every month and save up anything extra."

"You'll be working long after they've dropped off this mortal coil. And they'll still be under my feet in the meantime."

"But…" Lister hung his head. "I've got nowhere to keep 'em."

"Should have thought of that before you smuggled a pregnant cat onto the ship," Rimmer said sternly. "What would you have done if you hadn't been thrown in stasis? How would you hide four squeaky newborns? How would you get them neutered and stop them inbreeding? How-"

"I don't know!" Lister yelled. "I don't know! All I knew when I saw Frankie was that I'd finally found someone as pathetic and lonely as I was and I thought we could help each other out." He felt guilty when the cats scattered at his loud outburst and hid under a nearby camping bed. "Smeg," he groaned. "I'm the worst cat-dad ever, eh?"

Rimmer said nothing but instead climbed back inside the closet with his tools. Lister listened to him fiddling for a second or two before giving up on getting a response. He crawled under the bed and tried to coax the cats back out. The smallest juvenile sniffed his fingertips before retreating back with its mother and siblings. "I'm sorry babies," Lister said. "I don't know what to do for yer, what's best."

"Leave them here for now."

Lister yelped in shock at Rimmer's sudden voice behind him and banged his head on the metal frame of the bed. Fortunately it was such a flimsy thing it barely hurt. "Leave 'em?" he said in confusion.

"You could, that is, I mean, perhaps…" Rimmer shuffled his feet and turned the screwdriver in his hands. He took a deep breath and blurted out, "I could do with an assistant. You could work off your debt directly."

Lister jumped to his feet immediately. "Yeah sure! I don't know if I'd be any good at whatever it is you want me to do but I'll try my best." He slapped the back of his hand against his forehead in an inept salute. "Trainee Assistant Lister reporting for duty."


	2. First Summer: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry about the OCs, they're not about much. They're just plot convenience.

Lister tilted his head and groaned eagerly as the warm milky liquid hit the back of his throat and slid downwards. "Mmm Rimmer, that was great," he sighed. "I really needed that."

"Glad you enjoyed it," Rimmer said from above him. "Do you want more?"

Lister held out his empty mug. "Absolutely! I've been gasping for a cuppa since Bodmin."

Rimmer picked up the kettle from his portable stove and refilled the teapot. "Not often I get to use this," he said. "I much prefer it to a stewed bag in a cup."

"Or that instant crap in the old machines at work," Lister added.

"Urgh, don’t remind me. Vile stuff." Rimmer finished his own tea and sat with Lister to wait for the fresh batch. "I mostly have coffee anyway," he added. "Keeps me going through the day. But I’d love a proper machine instead of a percolator."

"I take it you can’t afford it."

"No. I’m behind on payments as it is. Oh no!" Rimmer held his head. "I’ve got to go to the bank at some point today. That’s my lunch time gone."

"Payments?"

Rimmer gestured to the entire room. "This nonsense. It’s haemorrhaging money."

"Oh…" Lister felt even more guilty now. "Suppose that’s the problem with a business. You always start out in the red."

"At this rate, I'll finish in the red. I should pack it in but I simply can’t."

"Stubborn guy," Lister said with a wink. "Always have been."

Rimmer got up to make the tea. Lister took another gander around the shop. So it was a business, as he’d guessed, but what exactly the business was he couldn’t work out. The furniture looked too good to have been built by Rimmer, and there were too many different styles. And there wasn’t just furniture; there were electrical goods, toys, other kinds of furnishings. Lister half-expected to see Bagpuss somewhere.

Rimmer handed him a new cup of tea and Lister scooped several spoonfuls of sugar into it. "Rimmer, if I’m going to work here, I suppose my first question is what am I going to do? What is this place?"

"A repair shop. Not quite fancy enough for proper restoration. More um… fixing and recycling."

"Huh."

"What?"

Lister sipped his tea and cautiously edged out on a limb. "No offence but this is one of the last places I’d expect to find you."

Rimmer sat back in his chair. It squeaked but remained sturdy under the weight. He sipped his own tea and joined Lister on the limb. "Is that so?"

Lister went quiet. He’d lived with Rimmer for almost a year back on the Red Dwarf but they’d never gotten close enough that he felt like he could pry further. He knew enough about Rimmer that he could tell he lived and breathed the Space Corps. He knew that Rimmer had practically been snatched up from the birthing table, had his cord cut, and been thrown into boarding school. He knew Rimmer had gone straight from there into full-time training to become a member of the JMC. He’d never lived alone, never had to budget, never had to think about where anything came from or how much of it he needed. He pressed a button and he got food. He twirled a dial and the temperature changed. He went to work and came back to find clean clothes and sheets, sparkling shower and toilet. Not that Lister considered Rimmer completely inept. He could fix the vending machines on the Red Dwarf, it was his job after all, and he had always fussed around the room between cleaning, though Lister long suspected it was just to get under his skin.

But living in the big wide galaxy, poor and all alone, was difficult; especially for a wet, posh boy like Rimmer.

Lister was just going to have to take him under his streetwise wing.

**~~~**

They finished up their tea in silence and Rimmer combed some of the flakes of paint from his hair. Lister was on the verge of fainting from shock once again when he saw Rimmer walk straight past his sink and razor and out of the door with overnight stubble. He didn’t even change his clothes. Lister followed him out into the bright sunlight and they began to wind their way through the narrow alleys and streets. He felt like people were staring but he wasn’t sure which one of them it was directed towards – Rimmer looking like he’d been dragged through a hardware store backwards, or Lister who was dressed for a holiday in a much warmer clime. He was regretting his board shorts and Hawaiian shirt as he shivered more and more with each step in the brisk seaside breeze.

Their first stop was not the bank, but a bakery. Lister was deliriously happy. As much as the cups of tea had hit the spot, they made his stomach realise it had nothing tasty and solid inside. The bakery was a small quaint building, warm and filled with delicious sights and smells and also, to Lister’s surprise, the moustachioed man he met earlier. He put down his tray of buns so that they could slide off into the display cabinet and then turned to greet them. “You found him then!” he addressed Lister.

"Er yeah," said Lister. "Thanks for the tip."

"So you’re the one sending strange men up to my shop," Rimmer interrupted stonily. "Should have known."

"Oh you love it really, Arnold."

Lister’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline when Rimmer shrugged off the comment. He nudged him subtly. "So uh… mate of yours?"

"I suppose so."

"How rude!" said the man, theatrically upset. "Keep that up and no brunch for you."

"Stewart, this is Lister, from my old ship. Lister, this is Stewart - a local artist and occasional baker."

"I bake to pay the bills," he said wistfully and kissed the confused Scouser’s hand. "Nice to meet you."

Rimmer's foot tapped loudly as his leg jiggled. "Stop flirting, Stewart. He’s straight, and you’re getting married in a few months."

"Everyone’s straight until they meet me," Stewart purred against Lister’s fingers.

"Ignore him." Rimmer snapped and batted Lister’s hand away from the artist’s wandering lips. "He likes to play up the ‘predatory gay’ stereotype for fun. He’s actually rather pathetically and sickeningly in love with his fiancé."

"Rude again," Stewart snapped back, but then he chuckled sportingly and went out to the ovens with a “Back in a mo’!”

Lister gawked at Rimmer as he perused the cabinets casually. He was starting to get whiplash from all the strange turns the day was taking. The last time Lister had heard Rimmer discussing the Rainbow Community he’d had much the same opinion of anyone born and bred on Io – not a positive one at all. But here he was fraternising with a member, and not even ironically or under duress. They also seemed to be good friends with their gently insulting banter. Lister’s stomach churned. Probably the hunger.

Stewart came back with a few pastries a moment later as he had promised. "You’re in luck. Eight today. Plenty for you and your guest."

"I appreciate it," said Rimmer and took the paper bag of goodies. "I don’t suppose you know if Gareth has another camping bed."

"Aww!" Stewart’s face fell. "Aren’t you two bunking up like the old days?"

"Uh…" Lister glanced at Rimmer in embarrassment.

"Not much room for that on my camping bed," said Rimmer coolly. "Of course we could always use your bed, Stewart."

"Don’t you dare!" he gasped in horror. "That is to remain unsullied until my wedding night, whereupon I plan to sully it quite fervently."

Lister was thoroughly confused by now. "The smeg are you two on about?"

Stewart laughed gently. "Sorry, that was an odd conversation to an outsider, wasn’t it? I’m a client of Arnold’s. He’s fixing an antique bed – a family heirloom – for me."

"Attempting to," Rimmer bemoaned. "I’ve no idea how I’m going to tackle it."

"You’ll work it out, dear," said Stewart. "Won’t he, Lister?"

"Deffo. And ‘sides I’ll be helping. We’ll get it done, no problem."

"Oh you’re sticking around?" Stewart smiled wickedly at Rimmer. "That’ll be so nice for you, hmm?"

Rimmer gritted his teeth into a smile. "Thank you for the pastries, Stewart. We have to be off."

"See you tomorrow!" he cooed after them as Rimmer quickly hustled Lister out of the doorway. They walked for a few minutes until they found a park. Rimmer chose a bench and opened the bag between them and they sat for a while munching away. Lister breathed in the sea air joyfully. The flowers added a sweet hint to the scent that he appreciated after a year on a mouldy old spaceship.

"Sorry about Stewart," Rimmer said suddenly. "He can be a bit much."

"Nah. Quite liked him," Lister replied. "Not sure about the ‘tache though."

Rimmer choked on a mouthful of croissant at the observation. "I know, it’s so bad. Doesn’t suit him at all. He looks like a magician."

Lister sniggered and took another pain au chocolat. "So what’s his bloke like then?"

"You'd never put them down as a couple, let’s just say."

"Bit chalk and cheese?"

"Extremely."

Lister wanted to point out that so were Stewart and Rimmer but he might think he was implying something. Rimmer may have become liberally-minded enough to be friends with gay men but that didn’t mean he’d be okay with such insinuations, not that Lister would be suggesting anything like that. He’d been careful to hide his own bisexuality when he’d lived on the ship with Rimmer because he was exactly the sort of man to get funny about it, especially as Lister had fancied him quite a bit until his miserable personality ruined the crush.

It was nice to know that, if he did choose to come out, there was a slightly higher chance of Rimmer being fine with it. But he could bring that up another time. For now though he was perfectly happy, sitting on a park bench with him and sharing a bag of pastries, with the British Summer sun above valiantly trying to keep them warm.


	3. First Summer: Part Three

Lister hung his head guiltily as Rimmer frowned at him for the eighth or possibly ninth time that he'd accidentally kicked him as he swivelled about on his chair. He couldn't help it. Bank conversations were boring, and Rimmer and his financial advisor were having an especially boring bank conversation; throwing around money words like 'income' and 'savings' and 'collateral' and 'tax' back and forth with seemingly no end. Eventually she seemed to come to an agreement with Rimmer. He signed the piece of paper she handed to him with a troubled sigh and he left the office with Lister, looking as green as the sea stretched out before them.

Lister patted his shoulder in the hopes of comforting him. "That bad, eh?"

"Have you ever heard of Reginald Perrin?" he replied dolefully and blinked slowly at the softly lapping water.

"Rimmer…"

"I'm joking. Mostly." He jerked out of his daydream and gasped at his wristwatch. "Oh for goodness sake. We were there for almost an hour. Gareth closes early today." He dashed back up the high street not looking back to check if his companion could keep up. Lister held him in his sight well enough to not get lost and they both went into a large and well-stocked ironmongers. Rimmer's garage was minimalist compared to this clutter, and Lister got the feeling that it was one of those places where they had everything you could imagine even if it wasn't on display.

Hammers? We got 'em. Pans? We got 'em. Stuffed moose head with fairy lights on the antlers? We got 'em.

Lister would also bet money that the proprietor could find anything within moments despite the haphazard piling of items as there was some semblance of order. DIY things were mostly around the counter. One corner had kitchen items, another had gardening. Lister admired that type of organised chaos.

"Gareth, there you are," Rimmer said from next to the paint supplies. "I don't suppose you have another camp bed?"

Lister realised Rimmer was looking his way. He turned and jumped at the human tower that had silently appeared behind him. "Smegging hell," he breathed as he stared upwards, "you need a bell or something, mate."

Gareth raised his eyebrow but didn't respond. He bent over the shop counter, pulled out a folded square of legs, springs and fabric, and presented it to Rimmer. He took it eagerly and brushed the webs away. "Be fine after a clean, I'm sure," he said to Lister when he recoiled at the escaping spiders.

"They arrived," Gareth said in a deep voice.

"You what?" said Lister in confusion.

"Already?!" Rimmer replied excitedly.

Lister once again felt like he'd turned up halfway through a conversation. "What arrived?"

Gareth's eyes rolled towards him so slowly that Lister thought he could hear them scraping against his eyelids. "They're loose."

"Loose!" Rimmer made a delighted, almost orgasmic noise beside them. "How many?"

The corner of Gareth's mouth tilted upwards. "Thousands."

Rimmer made the noise again. "Oh Listy, did you hear that - _thousands_."

"Yeah," Lister muttered. He was starting to get annoyed. "Thousands of what."

"O-rings," Rimmer said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Gareth pushed a large cardboard box from behind the counter and opened it to reveal that it was full of rubbery rings of various sizes. Lister recognised them. He'd used them a few times on Z-shift.

Rimmer practically drooled at the sight. "I'll be completely honest here; I'm beyond jealous of you, Gareth. It's going to take hours, days, weeks even to sort through all of those. You lucky bastard!"

Gareth's shoulders seemed to slump, though Lister found it difficult to tell from his lower angle. The man-mountain pouted. "I thought you were going to help."

"I'd love to," Rimmer said despondently. "But I've got to knock this one into shape as my assistant in the shop."

When Gareth looked down at him again with steely eyes, Lister felt a bit nervous. "Heya," he said as he stuck out his hand. "I'm Dave. Dave Lister."

"You're Lister." Gareth's expression changed immediately and he smiled warmly as he crushed the Scouser's hand with his meaty fingers. 

Lister rescued his hand before his bones became dust and shot a suspicious glare at Rimmer. Stewart had also seemed to have known him, or at least his history with Rimmer from his bunk comments earlier. "You been talking about me?"

"Possibly. Maybe. On occasion. In passing." Rimmer nonchalantly bounced on the balls of his feet and picked up a small tin of wood stainer. "I was probably complaining about your bloody cats." He put the tin on the counter along with the camp bed and Gareth wrote out a receipt in surprisingly delicate script. It was as they were leaving - Gareth waving them off with a subdued yet cheery farewell - that Lister realised that no money had changed hands, not there nor at the bakery. It wasn't until Rimmer took them to the local takeaway for an early supper that Lister saw him reach for his wallet. "I can pay for my own," he told him hurriedly.

"Nonsense," said Rimmer as he peered at the menu board behind the counter. "You're still a guest, for the moment. Enjoy the generosity because it won't last, miladdo."

"Yeah uh, speaking of generosity - how much was the bed? I can at least pay for that."

"I'll add it to your debt. I have a book at home with all my financial ins and outs. You've got your own columns already."

Lister laughed at him. Typical Rimmer - just because there was no money didn't mean it couldn't be organised.

Rimmer chose the more traditional cod, mushy peas and chips, whereas Lister went for spiced saveloys, curry sauce and chips. He was starving and wolfed down half of his meal before they reached home. Rimmer didn't like to walk and eat. He deemed it common.

They arrived back at the shop and instead of sitting at the table, Rimmer stood in the middle of the room to eat his fish, and from the four cobra-headed cats that hovered on every nearby high surface and leant forward with anticipating whiskers, Lister could see why. The fifth braver cat attempted to climb Rimmer's leg to get at the tasty treat and received a gentle shove in the face for its efforts.

Lister finished his own chips and began to wrestle with the camp bed. The mattress had a plastic hygiene cover so at least there would hopefully be nothing unpleasant living inside it from its time in the dark recesses of Gareth's store. He tore it off and the cats decided that the resulting ball was a toy and he spent a good ten minutes chasing them around to make sure they didn't swallow any of it. By the time the bed was cleaned with a wire brush, and the saddened cats had their plaything confiscated, Rimmer had finished his own dinner and so he went searching for sheets and blankets. Here Lister was left with a conundrum.

Rimmer's bed was tucked up against the wall in a corner at the far side of the shop with a television at the foot and it was really the only suitable place for a bed. One didn't want to be near the machines or doors and every wall but that one was occupied by boards or furniture or books. Lister could put the bed in an L shape so he jutted out into the shop but that would look odd. That, or either put his bed beside Rimmer's and enclose him in the space, or move Rimmer's bed to only have the head against the wall so that they would still lie together but at least have room either side to get in and out. It all seemed weirdly intimate after spending so much time sleeping above one another in what was essentially their own space within their shared bunkroom. He felt like he was encroaching. Invasive.

Lister pressed the heel of his hand against his eye. "Why am I overthinking this - it's only a smegging bed."

"Did you say something?"

Lister shook his head at Rimmer with an embarrassed grin. "Just uh… wondering how to arrange... things."

Rimmer hummed with rumination. "Indeed. I never expected company, not on a long term basis anyway. Perhaps I should have invested in a bunk bed at the time." He threw out the sheets over Lister's bed. "For now just leave a gap. I hardly ever get up in the night, so it's not like I'll fall over you."

"Suits me," said Lister. It suited the cats too. They marched up and down the new bed, kneading with fervent claws as they claimed it in the name of Frankenstein. Everything in the shop was theirs first. The humans were merely allowed access out of kindness but they clearly needed reminding now and then if Rimmer’s selfishness with his meal was anything to go by.

Lister tried his best to make the bed around them. Rimmer put his pitifully small bag of possessions next to it and pointed to a nearby door. "Toilet and shower room," he explained, "although I am aware that the latter holds no interest for you."

"Ha ha."

"The shower doesn't work anyway. I use the one at the gym."

"You go to the gym?"

"Of course." Rimmer drew himself up proudly and patted his taut stomach. "The ideal Space Corps body doesn't happen through wishful thinking."

"It also doesn't happen through fish 'n' chips," said Lister, teasing to disguise the fact that he couldn't help his eyes roving over the ideal Space Corps body before him. "I just meant memberships are expensive. You'd save a lot more if you didn't have one, Rimmer."

"I'm aware of that." He sniffed. "But I enjoy it. It's fulfilling."

"Fair enough. Everyone deserves a little something to keep them going. Speaking of which" - said Lister as he fended off the final cat from furring up his pillow with success - "don't suppose you've got any kind of tipple around?"

Rimmer let out a weary sigh. "You really can't go a single night without a drink?"

"Just one beer. I haven't had a pint in days."

"Fine, fine. We'll go to a pub."

Lister's face lit up. "Did you say A pub, not THE pub?"

"There are several pubs here. But I've only tried a couple myself."

"Oh mate, we _have_ to do a pub crawl at some point."

"Absolutely not."

"C'mon!" Lister hung from his arm and shook it eagerly. "Only once we've got a bit more dosh to throw about, of course. Hey, maybe even when we celebrate the end of my debt and I can finally go to Fiji."

"Lister, when you and those blasted cats leave, I'll hold an entire carnival to celebrate. Don't you worry about that."

"I think the pub crawl would be cheaper."

"With the way you drink I highly doubt it," Rimmer retorted. "Right. One beer tonight then we're coming straight back. You've got work on the 'morrow and I want you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

Lister groaned. "Already?"

"I thought you were desperate to start so you could get out of here sooner? Besides, I'm not cruel. I wouldn't dare wake you up before the crack of six."

"You're a saint, Rimmer. Really."


	4. First Summer: Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Four's working title was 'How many times can I say Rimmer and closet in the same sentence before it stops being a subtle metaphor and becomes annoying.'**

"Normally, Lister," said Rimmer as the barkeeper deliberately avoided them by scuttling past pretending to clean a glass, "people start crying _after_ they've had a few."

Lister slapped the bar and lifted his tear-streaked face. They were not the tears of a stricken drunk, however, but tears of raucous laughter. "I'm sorry man," he wheezed. "I'm sorry but there's no way it's not on purpose."

"He's a famous literary figure and he has an association with the area. It's only natural to name a pub after him."

"Yeah but, seriously? 'The Good Dickens'?" Lister held his mouth shut to stifle the sound from disturbing the other patrons as he once again began sniggering uncontrollably. 

"You have the emotional maturity of an axolotl fraternity - you know that, don't you?" Rimmer nudged his arm sharply to silence him and held his hand up to get the attention of the barkeeper.

She resigned to her fate and went over to them. "What'll it be, sweeties?" she purred.

Lister perked up immediately and wiped his face dry. "What d'ya recommend, dahlin?" he purred back.

"There he goes," Rimmer muttered and frisked his wallet. "My usual please, Suzanne. No ice."

"Sure. And for your cute friend may I recommend our best local ale. It's crisp and" -she paused for effect- "very tart."

"Sounds delish," said Lister. His grin widened when she flicked her bar towel over her shoulder and sauntered to a fridge to bend unnecessarily far over to pick out a bottle.

She wiggled back and pumped Lister's ale into one glass and poured the bottle into another and served them with the perfect heads. "$£5.50. Enjoy, boys!"

"Thank you," said Rimmer handing over a note. He sipped his drink whilst she fetched his change.

Lister looked at the contents of Rimmer's glass curiously. "What's your usual then?"

"Gooseberry cider. Try some."

Lister had no qualms about directly sampling another man's drink and to Rimmer's embarrassment he tipped the glass in his hand to his mouth. Lister coughed and turned his head before he accidentally spat the liquid back in and swallowed the mouthful painfully. "The smeg is that? It's like cream soda gone wrong."

"Well I like it."

"You should have a proper drink."

"Oh you mean like that barrel-aged piss that you partake of. No, thank you. And stop eyeing up the barmaid."

"You're just jealous that she's into me and not you."

"Actually I already gave her one."

Lister almost spat out his drink again. "You what?"

"Well... it was several ones really," Rimmer said with an air of bragging. 

"Good for you man," Lister said with a roll of his eyes until he noticed Rimmer now looking at himself in the bar mirror with a melancholy expression as if perplexed as to why she had let him near her in the first place.

"So what happened to end it then?" Lister asked gently.

"I had my work, she had hers. Our schedules hardly ever matched up. There were other issues as well. To be honest I think she just enjoys getting some strange." He chewed his lip. "Maybe that was the problem. I was _too_ strange for her."

Lister snorted and tried to cover it up with another cough. "Hey don't worry about it, big man." A thought struck him. "Talking of big men, that Gareth is something, in't he?"

"He seems imposing but he's a rather pleasant chap once you know him."

"Doesn't say much."

"He's not one for small talk like the weather or sports. He'll talk only when he's invested in something."

"Like O-rings?"

Rimmer whimpered desperately. "Don't remind me. I was so looking forward to that when he told me about the order. A few weeks back we spent the entire weekend sorting map pins by colour. Heavenly."

Lister couldn't fathom how that was anything but mind-numbingly boring. But it was nice that Rimmer had found a fellow dork with whom he could perform such inane tasks. "What does Stewart do when you're on your play-dates? I can't see him drawing up a chair and joining you."

"He does his own thing," Rimmer said in a clipped tone. He finished his cider with one toss of his head. "Hurry up. Early to bed, early to rise."

_I'd rather stick forks in my eyes_ , Lister thought, and then laughed because what he said had unintentionally rhymed. Maybe Rimmer was right. He did have a low level of maturity.

And what the smeg was wrong with that?

**~~~**

Lister lifted his head, the pillow cover sticking to his drooling mouth momentarily before dropping back to the bed, and he blinked blearily. He could feel two of the cats lying and purring on his back and legs. The other three were snoozing peacefully on Rimmer's empty bed. He turned his head carefully to look out at the shop. Rimmer was buzzing cheerfully around the closet again. He stopped now and then to change tools or pick up a pot of paint and disappear inside, where Lister could no longer see because of the angle. But he watched him for a little while.

He would have told himself it was because he didn't want to disturb the cats yet, but he knew that it wasn't entirely the truth. He was still utterly mesmerised by the subtle changes in Rimmer's mannerisms. Things he hadn't noticed that he'd noticed. The way Rimmer used to stand with his shoulders back and limbs rigid as if he were a soldier always at attention. The way he used to have only two expressions around other people - saccharine simpering for superiors or sneering frowns for everyone else. The way he used to constantly look around for danger like a deer on open land.

Had Rimmer never relaxed in his life before now? The poor bastard had been a heart attack waiting to happen.

The cats hissed angrily at their moving cushion and Lister yelped when they dug their claws in to keep their footing. "Would you bugger off guys?" he groaned. "Much as I'd love it, I can't lie here all day." He rubbed his eyes and peered at a clock on the wall. "Rimmer. It's half-eleven."

Rimmer popped his head out of the closet. "I tried to wake you but you were practically dead. You can make up your hours another day."

"How gracious of you, sir," Lister said but Rimmer didn't seem to grasp the sarcastic undertones judging by the smile he gave him.

The only working sink was in the workshop, which was fine for brushing teeth and shaving but Lister needed more privacy than that. He took a bowl of warm water, soap and a flannel into the shower room and gave himself a once over. It was better than nothing and he did like to be on some level of clean despite what Rimmer said.

He came out to find a fresh cup of coffee on the table and some bread and butter waiting for him. Lister was touched, although a cynical background voice suggested it was to save him time so he could get to work quicker. But if that was true then why had Rimmer let him sleep in at all? Interesting. 

Lister made his breakfast and tucked in. Rimmer popped his head out of the closet again. "You're humming," he snapped.

"I hum when I eat."

"You hum when you _anything_."

"Not _anything_ ," Lister echoed with a suggestive smirk.

Rimmer scowled and retreated back inside. Lister wandered over to admire his handiwork. For an amateur he had done a good job. The wood had been painted a light blue and distressed, as was the fashion lately. The shape of the closet wasn't a popular style which was probably why Rimmer had tried to make it as commercial as possible.

Lister smacked the side loudly and walked around to investigate further. "Hey, what're you doing in there? Hanging with Mr Tumnus?" Then Lister gasped. 

Rimmer was kneeling and painting a seaside scene on the inside of the wardrobe. The blue carried on from the outside but no longer distressed in order to create the sky. There were a few pale wisps of cloud and seagulls. The middle section was a teal ocean and it faded down into frothy waves towards the golden sands at the bottom.

Lister was floored. It was good. Really good. Surprisingly good. "I didn't know you could paint."

"What? Oh. No. No. It's just a…" Rimmer trailed off. "Is it all right?"

"It's lovely. Honest. What made you do that?"

"When I first saw the battered old thing I realised it was too small for an adult's wardrobe. I started painting it light blue for a child’s bedroom and I thought it looked a bit sky-like. And then I got slightly carried away."

"I think a kid would love it. They can hide in there with a torch and have something nice to look at."

"That's exactly what I thought too!" Rimmer pressed his hand against the dry sea. "I originally wanted to use magnetic paint so you could put seaside-themed cutouts and create little scenes. But apparently the stuff isn't very good."

"That's a shame. That would have been cute. What about the doors? Leaving them blue like the outside?"

"I thought about continuing the beach around but it might look odd."

"How about painting them like beach huts?"

Lister fell back when Rimmer suddenly jumped to his feet and grabbed his shoulders, his face uncomfortably close and furious-looking. "You," Rimmer said.

"What?" Lister asked nervously.

"Are a bloody genius."

"Oh." Lister laughed with relief. "I keep telling people that but they never listen."

Rimmer released him and dove on a nearby sketchbook. "Let's see, the top would be like… no hmm, that's not quite..." He scribbled feverishly with short sharp strokes. "It's no good," he whined after a moment. "I can't do it from memory."

"We could go to the seafront and get references from some real ones."

Rimmer wagged a sagacious finger at him. "You're trying to get out of working, I know your game miladdo. _I'll_ go to sea front. _You_ get on with something in the meantime. Stay away from the big machines though; I want to go over the proper health and safety with you first." And with that Rimmer sauntered off to enjoy the sunshine, leaving Lister on his lonesome in the dark dusty shop.


	5. First Summer: Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief blood/injury mentions but to humorous effect

There was a pregnant pause as Lister considered the plethora of objects around the garage. He was tempted to disobey Rimmer and use the machines. He knew his way around most of them - or at least thought he did - as he had used similar ones in Technology class at school. It was one of the few lessons where he bothered to turn up since he genuinely enjoyed it. One of the first and most useful things he ever made was a bottle opener. It still hung from his keychain.

He finally decided not to use the machines. If something went wrong and he ended up losing an appendage then Rimmer would be miffed. "You got blood all over my belt sander, you bumbling cretin. That’s coming out of your wages!" he would say, and Lister might take even longer to earn back all the money he owed depending upon which body part he lost. He shuddered. Hopefully not _that_ one. He liked that one.

He rummaged around some of the boxes on the other side of the room. There was one with old toys such as clapping monkeys, dogs you could lead around, Dinky cars and so on. That was a possibility. Lister had a knack for tinkering. The box next to it was wood-based objects. He was sure there was a Black Forest bear amongst them but he didn't dare hope.

Lister was aware that when it came to antiques experts he hardly fitted the stereotype. But as a child, when he wasn’t with his street gang or messing around in the aforementioned lessons he attended, he was usually at home with his grandmother where she enjoyed chain-smoking between housework chores in front of daytime television. When Lister was older and had turned being unemployed into an art form, he did the same. So it was that he had over twenty years of antiques, quiz, and property shows knowledge absorbed into his mind. The point being - he knew his Black Forest from his Robert Thompson and either would be wonderful to find.

"Matter of fact," he said to Frankenstein who had wandered over to scratch her head against the corners of the boxes, "the right one or two things could see me out of here in no time." He picked up a broken potato ricer. "But what are the chances of stuff like that being here," he added grimly.

Mathematically speaking if he worked on an item a week and sold at a profit of fifty dollar-pounds then he would be out of there by around…

Lister narrowed his eyes. Mental arithmetic was not his thing.

...two years. Two years of Rimmer. He'd been prepared for that back on the Red Dwarf but at least there he'd had his friends and the hope of getting Kochanski back.

Lister suddenly felt very despondent.

"Two years, Frankie. If we're lucky." He sank to the floor and petted her silky fur. "S'pose it won't be so bad. Rimmer seems slightly less of a knobhead now. You guys seem to like him, anyways." Lister had long held the belief that you could trust a cat's opinion.

Frankenstein put her paws up on the lid of a box and meowed.

"What is it girl - Timmy's stuck down a well?" Lister looked inside the box and saw several old watches and clocks. He selected a pocket watch with a missing chain. He didn’t recall much about watches but he could tell it wasn't made of any precious metals or from an important era. It was probably twentieth-century and apart from a couple of dents it seemed in good nick. He tried to wind it up but it refused to cooperate.

He turned it around in his hands curiously. It was initialled on the back - D.L.

"I tell you what Frankie, that's a sign if I ever saw one," Lister said brightly. "Me first project, what d'ya think?"

She opened her mouth in disgust at the filthy thing and walked off.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, luv."

**~~~**

"What on Io are you working on?"

"Earth," Lister corrected.

"What?"

"We're on Earth. Change your idiom."

Rimmer delicately toed off his shoes into the corner of the room and put on his work boots. Lister was sat at the table with the pocket watch in his hands; nearby a box of tiny tools and one of the many reference books from the shelves propped up in an old missal stand. Rimmer leaned over him to get a better view of the mess. "You chose a watch? That's possibly the most complicated thing you could have picked. They use them to prove God's existence for smegs sake!"

"I like a challenge."

"You'll be there forever."

"Better put the kettle on then, hadn't you?"

Rimmer made a noise of disapproval but Lister heard the kettle's switch click on and the gentle chinking of mugs being retrieved from a cupboard.

"Have fun at the beach?" Lister queried out of politeness rather than interest.

"I went for work, Lister. Not to dip my toes in the sea for the fish to nibble."

"It's what I would go for."

"Those poor fish. What did they ever do to you to deserve death by your filthy foot flesh?"

"Mm," said Lister. He frowned with concentration and teased a screwdriver amongst the cogs. "Five sugars please, mate."

Rimmer set the cups on the other side of the table to keep the tools safe from spillages and put his sketchbook back where it lived. "To answer your question it wasn't fun. Buildings are not my forte. I'll stick to landscapes."

"So it's not only your hair that's Bob Ross about you."

"It's not that bad is it?" Rimmer wailed and probed his curls. "I keep meaning to get a trim."

"No no, I like it," said Lister, immediately regretting the compliment when the other man looked at him strangely. Lister cleared his throat and elaborated, "Just surprising, s'all. You were always so adamant about having the good old 'short back and sides'."

"I was adamant about a lot of things."

Rimmer didn't look sad exactly but his voice had a wounded sense to it and Lister's natural inclination to comfort took over. "Hey, everyone's got a stubborn streak," he said soothingly. "I'm already regretting this watch but I'll be smegged if I'm going to stop." 

"Let me see." Rimmer stood behind him and leant over his shoulder again. Lister froze like a school child worried that he'd written the wrong answer during a test exactly when the adjudicator had stopped to scrutinise his paper. Rimmer clicked his tongue. "I've no idea what I'm looking at."

"Me neither," said Lister. He scratched his ear where Rimmer's breath had tickled it.

"But I think I can help." Rimmer went to a drawer near the machines and pulled out a set of something that didn't look quite like goggles nor quite like glasses. "Magnifiers," he explained when he saw Lister's raised eyebrow. "Just don't wear them too much. You'll get a spectacular headache, believe me."

Lister examined them carefully. "Thanks man. That'll stop me squinting like a cowboy."

"Why don't you have a break? Grab your tea and we'll go over the machines," Rimmer suggested. 

That sounded good to Lister. He stood up, cracked his neck and knuckles with a few satisfied grunts, and picked up his cup for that first deep gulp of sweet milky leaf juice.

"First of all," said Rimmer sternly - putting on his old Z-shift voice, "the yellow line on the floor means no access beyond without proper safety attire."

"Yessir!”

"I mean it. I'm not having you malingering about because you lost a finger in the belt sander."

Lister sipped his tea. _Called it._

"If you do go beyond the yellow line then at a minimum you should wear steel-cap boots and full clothing."

"I wasn't about to do any sanding with my tackle out, man."

"I _mean_ trousers instead of shorts. And no loose shirts."

"Eh, what?"

"Safety first, Listy. You get a bit of palm tree caught in something and that's my machine wrecked." He waved his hand dismissively. "Oh and you might get hurt or something."

Lister pondered. "My biker boots have steel on the toes. But the only trousers without holes in that I have are my leathers and they've got all sorts hanging off 'em. I suppose I can take them off. But they're all back on the Dwarf. Petersen said he'd hold the rest of my stuff 'til I got settled."

"Tell him to send them on. I'll rearrange my wardrobe so you can have some space."

"Do I have to put my boxers on hangers like you do?"

Rimmer ignored him and abruptly brushed past to pat the first machine fondly. "Now then, this fine lady here is a jigsaw."

"Must be an easy one. There's only one piece," Lister joked.

"Ah!" - Rimmer said excitedly and clearly unaware his leg was being pulled - "it's actually very interesting because jigsaw puzzles are in fact named after the machines they were originally cut on, so I understand your confusion."

It wasn't an interesting fact and Lister already knew it, but Rimmer was so thrilled to be _au fait_ with a subject that Lister didn't have the heart to tell him. He nodded enthusiastically as Rimmer pointed at all the machines in turn and proceeded to teach him to suck eggs.

But it was better than trying to work out the pocket watch.


	6. First Summer: Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Lister goes sleuthing and things get accidentally intimate at bedtime.**

Lister stabbed at his bowl of limp ramen miserably. He knew life here wasn't going to be all cakes and fish suppers but it was one of his least favourite foods. He thanked his stars that it wasn't a Pot Noodle, and Rimmer had agreed to buy chilli flakes for him to sprinkle in for flavour. He sat opposite him at the table, showing off by trying (and failing) to use the disposable chopsticks that came with it.

Lister picked a vegetable out of his broth and put it in Rimmer's and asked about his plans for the evening.

"Oh, I'll probably curl up in bed with an instructional video on woodwork. It's time I bit the bullet and tried to work out how to fix this bed of Stewart's. He's bringing it soon."

"I've got a few videos about _woodwork_."

"I'm sure you do."

Lister chuckled and put his empty pot in the sink to wash for recycling. "I might go for a walk. Check out the town."

"Say hello to Suzanne for me".

Lister winced internally. Rimmer was right that he was going to the pub, but not for the reasons he thought. His interest had been quite piqued since he found out that Rimmer had enjoyed a dalliance with the barkeeper. Maybe finally getting laid was what led to his newfound good mood. Lister needed to know more and Suzanne was far more likely to give answers than Rimmer.

"Don't get bladdered," Rimmer added when Lister didn't reply.

"I'm just having a pint..."

"Anyway, I thought you didn't have two pennycents to rub together?"

"There's always money for beer."

"Of course there is."

Lister wasn't about to argue with him. 

**~~~**

The evenings had already begun to turn cold so Lister stole one of Rimmer's jackets and stuffed the spare door key in his pocket in case he turned in early. The sea breezes whipped his skin harshly and he pulled the collar up his face as far as it would go. The last day of August and the weather already wanted to be autumn.

"C'mon man, you're a Northerner. You're supposed to live in vests all year round," Lister scolded himself. "Can't let this sissy southern cold get to yer."

The welcoming gleaming amber light of the pub was soon in sight. Lister paused briefly to chuckle like a schoolboy at the sign again, then headed inside and beelined to the bar. He was in luck; Suzanne was working and she recognised him instantly. "What'll it be this time, luvvie?"

"Surprise me."

She gripped one of the pumps with a professional firm hand that made Lister gulp. She smiled suggestively. "A half or full pint?"

"Full thanks. Is it $£3.00 like the last one?"

"Sure is."

He began to fish in his wallet for the correct change. His stomach growled. Noodles were not considered an adequate dinner to his system. "How much are scratchings?"

"$£1.50."

He reluctantly pulled out his only note. "Can I have a couple of them as well?"

She put down his pint in front of him and plucked two packets of pork scratchings that hung from the wall. "No Arnold tonight?" she asked.

"He's studying. I should be too but I fancied a chat with you, if that's all right."

"I don't know about that," she said and gestured to the three other people in the pub. "I'm swept off my feet as you can see."

"Oh…"

"I'm joking luvvie," she giggled and dropped the change in his hand. "But if you're after a shag you'll want to grab me nearer to closing time."

Lister gulped again. He liked a forward woman and any other time he'd have been up for it but he needed to keep his mind straight. He pocketed the coins. "Thank you for the offer, but I actually wanted to ask about you and Rimmer."

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell."

"Hey babe, don't misunderstand!" Lister was mortified. "I'm not some pervert wanting sordid details about me mate's sex life. It's just that I used to know him from our old job and he used to be really different. I was wondering if you sorted him out or something."

Suzanne furrowed her brow. "Old job?"

"I worked with him in the Space Corps."

"Wait. Are you… Lister?"

Smegging hell, does this whole town know me? He nodded at her. "Did he talk about me a lot then?"

"I'll say. It seemed like you only existed to keep him in a state of abject misery."

"What gave you that impression?"

"His words - he said 'Lister only exists to keep me in a state of abject misery'."

"Thanks man," he muttered under his breath.

"I think he meant it in a fond way," she said reassuringly. "He seemed excited that you'd be visiting soon. Kept going on about cats. Are you musical fans?"

"Heh, no he meant real cats. He's got my cat and her kittens at home. He cat-sat for me while I was in stasis."

"That was nice of him."

"Yeah," said Lister, wiping a droplet of condensation from his glass before it hit the bar. "Yeah, it was."

**~~~**

Squares flickered blue and white in the darkness as Lister approached the building. Upon entering he found the flashing coming from the windows was due to the television. Rimmer had fallen asleep and the video had continued merrily along without him. Rather than turn on the harsher main lights and risk waking him, Lister left the television on mute and prepared for bed by the ambient glow.

All but one of the cats were gone - probably hunting the rats that threatened the electrical wiring daily - and that one was curled up on Rimmer's lap as he sat propped up in his bed, head bowed and chin touching his chest. It was the smallest one with a blue collar and it seemed to like Rimmer the most out of all of them. Lister had noticed it slinking around him at every opportunity.

Lister sat on his bed as carefully as possible but it still squeaked harshly at the pressure. "Hey," he murmured, brushing a finger against Rimmer's cheek. "You'll get a bad neck sleeping like that."

Rimmer's breathing didn't change.

"Sleeping like the dead, eh?" Lister stood back up and felt underneath Rimmer's blanket for his ankles. He pulled him slowly down the bed until he was supine. The cat hissed angrily at being disturbed and Rimmer rubbed his face with his forearm and mumbled incoherently. Lister lifted his head and plumped up his pillow beneath it. "Relax guy, go back to Dreamland."

"Wurrayuu?" the tired man grumbled.

"Eh? Oh, 'where were you', you mean. I was at the pub, remember?"

"Suff…" Rimmer's arm fell on his face again. "Yusundfny."

Lister couldn't work that one out. "You too," he replied. He pulled up the blanket to Rimmer's shoulders to keep him warm.

Rimmer grabbed his wrist. Before Lister could ask what was wrong, a pair of lips pressed against the palm of his hand. Lister stared down at the peaceful face lit up by the television's changing hues. "Missed you," Rimmer sighed happily, his eyes still shut tight. "Come back to bed."

A cacophony of confusion raged in Lister's hectic head. What the smeg was Rimmer doing? What the smeg was Rimmer talking about? What the smeg was Lister doing still letting him hold his hand? He peeled Rimmer's fingers away from his wrist and rescued it from the gentle but determined grip. Rimmer frowned at the loss but fell asleep again within moments.

Lister sat back on his bed and tried to run the events over in his racing mind. Rimmer had stirred from a deep sleep and asked where he'd been. That was understandable; exhaustion messed with memory. He had said something else and then kissed his hand. That took a bit more explaining.

"Yusundfny," Lister repeated. Was the answer in there somewhere? "Yuh sund fuhny." Lister's eyes widened. 

_You sound funny?_

He almost laughed with relief. Rimmer, in a sleepy daze, had thought he was someone else and was expecting a different voice. It was the only explanation. The kiss. The ‘missed you’. The - Lister's face became hot – ‘come back to bed’. Rimmer must have thought he was Suzanne. That made sense too. They had talked about her earlier and he was probably stressed about Lister going to see her. Jealousy and regret had regressed his mind to a happier time when they'd still been together. 

Lister punched the air. "Suck on that, Freud." He looked again at Rimmer, sleeping soundly once more with the blue-collared cat in a tight ball on his thighs. "Don't worry, mate. If she means that much to you, I'll leave her alone."

He had to admit that he never imagined a woman like that would be Rimmer's type for a long-term relationship but he was going to support whatever made him happy. He settled into bed and wriggled some warmth into the sheets. "I'll root for you two," he told Rimmer as he drifted off. "Maybe one day you can double-date with me and Kris. You can visit us in Fiji and the girls can ride horses in white dresses and we can fish and you can tell me all about your latest artworks."

Two years was plenty of time to win their exes back. They just had to stay positive.


	7. First Autumn: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry for more OC nonsense. The next chapter will be pure Listy/Rimsy bonding and cat fluff to make up for it.**

It was eight o’clock in the morning and Lister wasn’t happy about it. He was very much a night owl and (annoyingly) Rimmer had been up for a while having already had breakfast, gone to the gym, come back, and spent the last half an hour calling up various clients on the telephone. He had an entire Rolodex of them. Lister found this odd considering he’d only had the repair shop for six months or so, and Rimmer spoke to them as though they were strangers.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said Lister when he finally hauled his limp body out of bed to get ready for the day. There was no way he could sleep through Rimmer's incessant nattering over the phone. Lister had just come out of the bathroom when he saw someone tapping and waving at one of the windows. He tiptoed past Rimmer who was still on the telephone. He opened the door as quietly as possible and greeted their guest with a friendly grin. "Alright Stewart?"

"Morning Dave. I didn't want to knock and disturb Arnie. The bed arrived last night and I thought before work was the best time to bring it."

Lister looked over his shoulder to see the large wooden frame sticking out of the back of a white van and Gareth staring morosely at them, clearly at a complete loss as to how to get it out. "Course man," said Lister. "We’ll help bring it in."

There was a sound of a phone being slammed down. "LISTER!" Rimmer screamed from behind him. "Did you seriously answer the door in your underwear?!"

Lister looked down at his boxers and ratty old 'London Jets' t-shirt and then back up to Rimmer's fuming face. "S’only Stewart and Gareth with the bed."

"That’s not the point. You need to be professional around clients."

"Okay okay. Sorry Stewart."

"No... no… it’s fine." Stewart dragged his eyes from Lister's crotch to smile mischievously at Rimmer. "Ooh, you lucky thing!"

"Shut up," Rimmer hissed through his teeth. He wrapped his bathrobe around the half-naked Scouser for decency's sake even though they both knew for a fact that he had none.

Lister smirked up at him. "Tut-tut Rimmer, now who’s being unprofessional? You shouldn't talk to clients like that."

"You shut up too. And put on clothes."

Lister shrugged the bathrobe away and went to find his shorts. Rimmer followed Stewart outside and after a lot of swearing and sweating the four of them managed to manoeuvre the bed frame into the shop.

"Lister, kettle," Rimmer said weakly as he slid to the floor.

"You kettle," Lister rebutted with a tired groan.

"Someone _please_ kettle," Stewart whined.

In the end it was Gareth who kettled. The other three stood around the bed after a quick breather to scrutinise its condition. There was evidence of woodworm in several places and a couple of slats had broken in the middle. Some sanding and painting or staining was what it needed most after those initial treatments. But other than that Rimmer had no clue how to spruce it up.

"I wholeheartedly trust your artistic vision," Stewart said for encouragement.

"I don’t," Rimmer replied. "And I'm not sure how to repair this joint. I don't even know what kind it is."

Stewart suddenly giggled. "Well it’s a gay bed. Must be a butt joint."

"Shame it’s not a lesbian's bed," Lister laughed and nudged him. "It’d be tongue and groove."

Rimmer pouted at the pair of them cackling madly at their puns. "I don’t get it. I mean the butt one is obvious, but lesbians?"

"Tuh-ung and groo-oove," Lister enunciated for him, wiggling his own between his teeth.

Slowly it dawned on Rimmer and he went crimson from his ears to his neck. " _Oh my god_ you’re talking about _cunnilingus_."

"Pardon?" Gareth had finished the tea and walked in on the worst possible part of the conversation.

"We're discussing cunnilingus, sweetie," said Stewart and hugged him in delight when he went the same shade that Rimmer had. "Oh, you two are absolutely precious, aren't you?"

"No," Rimmer said defensively, "we're just not perverts."

"It's not perverted - you're too innocently minded, especially poor Gareth. He hasn't gone truffling in that particular forest if you catch my meaning. But then again, neither have I."

Rimmer sniffed haughtily. "My condolences. Shouldn't you two be at work?"

"Plenty of time for a cuppa and a chat first." Stewart turned back to Lister. "So, how are you finding our lovely little town?"

"Haven't explored much but it seems great. Have you lads been here long?"

"Gareth's born and bred. I used to come here on family holidays as a child and decided to settle down with Gareth after art school."

"I went to art school too!"

"Oh, what did you do there?"

"Three other students and a lecturer." Lister chuckled sheepishly. "I didn't really turn up after Freshers ended except to hang out with mates and stuff. But wow man, you've really been with Gareth all this time? That's amazing."

He didn't know what he had said that was wrong, but the atmosphere suddenly became tense. No-one looked at him.

"Coming up ten years," said Stewart after a pensive moment. "I knew him because he worked in the hardware shop as a teen before he took over from his grandfather. Gareth was my first crush, you could say. But he turned me down when I finally approached him."

"Because you were fresh out of secondary school and he was a university student," Rimmer interrupted. "Five years isn't a big difference now but he was right to be wary back then."

"You've been reading too much 'Lolita'," Stewart said with a scoff. "Anyway, I was perfectly legal. Can't believe he made me wait until I finished college."

"Five years diff', huh?" mused Lister. "That's the same as me and Rimmer."

"You don't say! How in-ter-es-ting…" Stewart cooed and smiled eagerly at them.

"Work," Gareth said and Lister jumped at the sudden voice behind them. For a big guy it was easy to forget he was around. He was so quiet.

Stewart twisted his fiance's hand to look at his wristwatch. "Oh boo, you're right. Time to go. I'll continue telling you my life story some other time, Davy."

"Look forward to it," he replied cheerily. The couple finished their teas and hurried out of the shop. Lister took the cups to the sink and from the corner of his eye he caught Gareth leaning back through the doorway, grip Rimmer's shoulder and pull him forward to whisper into his ear.

Rimmer shook his head and answered, "I said I would," with his head and voice low.

"If you're sure." On that note Gareth left and Rimmer slowly closed the door behind him.

Lister was positively burning with questions now, but he knew better than to interrogate someone as guarded as Rimmer. The second he started on him he would shut down, and Lister had only just caught hold of the friendly and talkative side of him. "Bide me time, that's all," he told himself. "Not like I'm going anywhere soon."

That reminded him.

"Rimmer, is it alright if I call up Petersen about my stuff? Official JMC time is twelve hours ahead, yeah?"

"Want to catch him before he's three sheets to the wind? Sensible. Go ahead then; the address for the shop is pinned above the phone."

Lister flipped through the phone directory for the Space Corps and spent a long time being volleyed between various departments until he was eventually put through to the Red Dwarf herself. His luck was in. Petersen had finished his dinner shift and was in the process of taking off his chef whites when Lister rang.

"Heeeeeyyy, Smeghead! What's shakin'?"

"Lister, you bastard! How're you?"

"Solid man and I've got good news for you. You can shove all me gear on the next delivery shuttle. I've found somewhere to kick it for a bit."

"Already? What unlucky girl have you shacked up with?"

"Uh…" Lister looked over at his new/old roommate. Rimmer had gathered up some of the equipment he needed for his bed project and was currently down on his hands and knees to clean up the worst of the dirt with a hand brush. Lister couldn't help but admire the view. "I'm still in Cornwall," he confessed to Petersen.

"You mean…"

"Yeah."

"You're staying with Rimmer?"

"Yeah."

"That Rimmer?"

"Yeah."

" _The_ Rimmer?"

Lister found himself getting irritated. "We'll chat properly some other time, man. Let me give you the address and you can go off with Chen and Selby."

"How'd you know I was hanging out with them tonight?"

"It's what you do every night."

"Fair." There was a heavy pause. "Lister?"

"Huh?"

"Can I keep your banana? I really like it."

Lister had to think for a moment before he realised what he meant. "No way, I love that banana. It says Fiji instead of Fife on the blue label. It's hilarious."

"Okay, I'll send it all first thing after my hangover. But don't welch on me - I want to hear all about you and Rimmer ASAP."

"Sure thing. Have a pint in my honour."

"Will do!"

Lister read off the address and said a final goodbye. Knowing Petersen the whole ship would be buzzing with rumours about them by the morning. "Oh smeg, I hope Kris doesn't get any weird ideas about us," Lister mumbled. "She's not likely to come with me to Fiji if she thinks I've been shagging my roommate."

"Did you say something Listy?" Rimmer sat up, covered in spider webs and mouse droppings, and waved a paintbrush at him. "If you're done then make yourself useful and help me with the woodworm."

Lister laughed internally. _Don't worry Kris. Like I'd choose_ that _over you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Freshers: The first week or two of college/university where students bum around and get used to their new campus and roomies, and apply to any extra activities or clubs.**   
>  **Kettle: Most British people I know do not specifically ask for tea or coffee when arriving home or visiting someone they know well. We just yell 'kettle' until someone gives in and switches it on.**   
>  **Tongue and groove: Fun fact, my dad told me this joke when I was a kid. Took a few years to properly get it.**   
>  **Early bird Arnie: Rimmer doesn't actually like morning, he's just been conditioned to get up early from school and work. In the series canon you may recall his special deal with Holly regarding his wake-up call, where he gets a few extra sneaky hours of sleep.**   
>  **Five years age difference: Canon moves around between 7-5 depending on where you get your information, but I like a nice round five so that's what I've always gone for.**


	8. First Autumn: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Apologies, but this scene sort of ran away with itself. I've had to split it into two chapters, so the cat stuff has been postponed until next time. But we have a lot of Listy/Rimsy bonding to get through, so huzzah?**
> 
> **TW: blood, minor injury**

“Hey Rimmer, close your eyes.”

“Like I'm stupid enough to fall for that one.”

“Serious man, close 'em.” Lister bounced eagerly on his heels with his hands behind his back. “It's nothing bad. I swear it.”

Rimmer pouted but put down the book he was reading through for research on types of wood and tightly shut his eyelids. Lister held something by his ear and waited patiently. Rimmer frowned. “Ticking?”

“I fixed the watch.”

“You’re joking!” Rimmer's eyes opened wide in disbelief and he snatched the pocket watch from Lister's hand.

“Careful!” he yelped in concern. “I'm dead proud of it and I don't want it broke already.”

“You even cleaned it up.”

“Had to. Only way to work out what was wrong. Can you believe it was one bent tooth on one tiny cog? Couldn't see it with all that gunk.”

“Colour me impressed, Lister. Well done.”

Lister never heard anything like it from Rimmer, and had never expected to if he were honest. It was especially jarring to have a moment like that with a man who told him last year that he was a waste of a zygote and the coupling of literally any other pair of gametes would have yielded a better result.

Lister felt a bit shy from the current praise as he took back the watch. “Reckon we could get a few bob back on it?”

“Undoubtedly. I'll take it to auction with a few other things; we'll make more money from a job lot than trying to fob it off on a regular customer.” Rimmer was about to pick up his book to continue reading when he stalled. “Actually you could come along if you like.”

“Where is it?”

“A quick train ride away in  Truro . Small but friendly place. I've been once before.”

“Sure, might be fun.”

“It's not fun. It's part of our work.”

“So you keep saying.”

Lister leaned against the wall and admired his finished watch. It had taken three days - not including cleaning, buffing and polishing - but he felt rather fulfilled. Would they all feel like that or was this one special because it was the very first? He was tempted to pocket it as a keepsake but the money was more important. With this he was one step closer to  Fiji . 

"What’s my next project, Mr Rimmer, sir?" he asked, demonstrating an energetic salute.

"Don’t get cute with me. And you can pick whatever you want."

"Can I have a go at the machines now?" Lister patted the leather trousers he was wearing enthusiastically. They had arrived the previous morning along with the rest of his things from Petersen, and Lister had spent the day (whilst the watch parts were busy marinating in a cleaning solution) putting up his posters and other souvenirs around the sleeping area. Rimmer watched the entire time, obviously swallowing down his complaints. Lister didn’t know why he was being courteous all of a sudden but he appreciated it. He needed to liven up their quarters or he’d go mad. All Rimmer had put up was a calendar of South West railway stations.

Rimmer huffed but agreed to the request. "I want to test you first though. Pick a bit of scrap wood, draw a simple shape, and then use the jigsaw to cut it out. If you can manage that without losing a limb, then I’ll leave you be."

Lister took off his jacket and left it on the back of a chair then selected a random piece of MDF to cut. He pencilled out a rough shape and approached the machines.

"Ah-ah-ah," Rimmer scolded in a sing-song voice. "What have we forgotten?"

"Me patience," Lister said irritably.

"Goggles, miladdo. Goggles."

"For a bit of wood?"

"For anything beyond the yellow line."

Lister swore under his breath and went to fetch a pair of goggles. Rimmer had helpfully labelled them with their names. He’d labelled everything in fact, including the label maker, and Lister wasn’t even slightly shocked by this. He went back to the jigsaw with his scrap wood. Rimmer’s gaze darted scrupulously over him as he turned on the extractor and then brought down the safety shield ready for cutting. “Alright?” Lister yelled over the noise.

"Carry on!"

Lister turned on the saw and carefully moved the wood against it. it skipped slightly when he misjudged the speed of it. Maybe it had been longer than he thought since he’d used one. He turned it around and efficiently cut out his shape. He was feeling rather smug about it until he saw that Rimmer was not only hovering nearby but he had the first aid kit in hand. Lister was incensed. He really didn’t trust him. "For smeg’s sake, Rimmer. I’m not going to-"

Rimmer’s face paled.

Lister felt a burning sensation followed by wetness on his finger.

The machine screeched to a halt when Rimmer slammed his hand on the large red emergency stop button. He hauled Lister away to the sink and thrust his left hand under the cold water tap.

Lister’s brain began to start working. _Ah_ , it said to itself, _we’re in pain aren’t we?_

"AAARRGHHHH!"

"Shut up, Lister!" Rimmer squealed, washing his own hands hurriedly.

"This is your fault! If you hadn’t been helicoptering me I wouldn’t have lost my concentration."

"If I hadn’t been nearby you’d have bled all over my machines."

"Sod your smegging machines. How will I play guitar now?"

"Badly, as per usual," Rimmer snapped. He ignored the wincing from Lister when he wrapped a towel around his hand and gently squeezed it to check the injury. "You only nicked the tip. Should be clean now. I can’t see anything in the wound. You’re up-to-date on your tetanus shot and everything?"

"Yeah," Lister groaned. His finger was throbbing horribly and pulling down his goggles to get a better look at it hadn't helped any. "JMC took care of all that when I signed up."

"Thought so." Rimmer rummaged around the first aid kit and produced an antiseptic wipe and a box of plasters. "Good thing I made you wait for your trousers to turn up. Imagine if your finger had been something else, Listy."

"Not even slightly funny." Lister winced again at the sting of the antiseptic solution seeping into the cut but he knew it was for the best. "Thanks," he said humbly. Rimmer didn’t say anything back. He took out one of the weird H-shaped plasters that often turned up in multipacks and wrapped it neatly around the fingertip. Lister stared in amazement. "Oh, so that’s what they’re for? Tha's nifty."

"You would know that they’re designed specifically for fingertips if you bothered to read the packaging."

Lister wiggled his finger gleefully. There was a small dark patch where the blood had begun to soak the pad of the plaster but it seemed to have clotted at last. "One more thing to do to make sure it’s totally fixed," he said.

"What’s that?"

"You have to kiss it better."

"Absolutely not. Nonsense."

"Didn’t your mum ever kiss your hurts?"

"My mother was too busy kissing every other male in existence," said Rimmer and that was the end of the discussion in his mind.

"Rimmer?"

"What?"

Lister pressed his finger against Rimmer’s lips. "There you go. Wasn’t so bad."

"That didn’t count!"

"Did."

"Did not!"

Lister smiled sweetly up at him. "Fank yoo for kithing my booboo, Wimsy."

"For goodness sake, how old are you?"

"Twenty-five."

"I was being rhetorical, you utter gimp."

"You owe me anyway," said Lister, wanting to get out of the insult-flinging that was bound to last the next hour if he didn’t halt it immediately. "This only happened ‘coz you distracted me."

"I was making sure you were behaving safely. I know your habit of messing around on the job."

"Not when it’s important or dangerous. I’m not a complete idiot."

"I caught you chewing a live wire once."

"It gave me the tiniest of zaps, it was fine. And ‘sides, you laughed like a drain that time when you found out I was in traction from that cargo bay accident."

"Only once I knew you weren’t really ill."

"Me spine broke in three places! How is that 'not ill'?"

"But you weren’t dying or anything." Rimmer packed up the first aid kit with a sullen expression. "Contrary to popular belief I don’t hate you. At least not enough to wish for something like that."

Lister watched quietly as he put everything away. Every movement Rimmer made was jagged and impotently vengeful, a silent protest in place of continuing the argument. Lister hated passive-aggressiveness more than any other kind of fight and it was by far Rimmer’s favourite weapon of choice. And the easiest way to end it was to give in.

"Look, I'm sorry," said Lister as he offered a metaphorical olive branch. "I know you have a habit of worrying. But you can trust me. This is different to the Dwarf, I'm aware of that. There’s not a billion people that can take over my shift if something happens to me."

"It’s not just that, Listy." Rimmer sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "For the first time I’m completely responsible for myself, and now for you. I can’t simply blame the JMC for harness negligence or accuse Petrovich of giving us too many hours and making us fatigued and clumsy. The buck stops here, with me."

"Hey man, I think you’re doing great. You’re definitely one of the better bosses I’ve had."

"You’re just saying that."

"I’m serious. Most of them would have let me bleed to death and then taken the cleaning cost out of my wages."

"Speaking of cleaning... you have rather stained the floor."

"I’ll get right on it." Lister put a bucket under the tap to fill up with warm water and went to check that the small red pool hadn't gone under the machines. "Ah smeg," he said in exasperation. "I got blood on my willy."

"Excuse me, what?!" exclaimed Rimmer.

With his good hand Lister picked up the ruined wood from under the jigsaw. "The shape I was trying to cut out. Not bad, eh?" He waved the phallic piece about proudly. "Want to paint it up for me? Make a nice decorative piece. Get a magnet on it and stick it on the fridge."

"Lister, this is not a sentence I ever thought I'd have to say, but: stop waving your penis in my face."

"No fun, man," Lister sighed with a shake of his head. "No fun at all."

"Clean. The. Floor."

"Yes sir, Mr Rimmer, sir!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Serious question, Lister - would you still have asked Rimmer to kiss your booboo better if it _had_ been your penis?**


	9. First Autumn: Part Three

It felt a little furry when he ran his tongue over his teeth; this was what made Lister realise he should probably get a new toothbrush. He was fairly certain it was older than his dreadlocks. He threw it in the bin and used the one Rimmer had loaned him when he first turned up. He'd been at the shop for a little over a week so far and he felt right at home. There were a few reasons for this.

One reason was – as had been pointed out by most of the people who knew him – he could make himself comfortable almost anywhere dry and relatively warm. He had slept in a variety of places over the years after parties, piss-ups, fiestas and ceilidhs. Having a camp bed was a luxury compared with airing cupboards, kitchen tables, dumb waiters and storage lockers.

Another reason was that he didn't cause much fuss. He needed little to get by in life. He loved spicy foods more than anything, but he could eat bland stuff if he had to. He was British after all. So what Rimmer put down for him on the table each meal, so long as it wasn't fresh and green, was eaten. That night's fare had been soup and it hadn't been too bad. He asked Rimmer what kind and had been given the answer ‘gazpacho’.

“I think I've heard of that. Isn't it supposed to be cold?”

Rimmer’s face had gone practically purple. “How the bloody hell do you know that?!”

“Dunno. Picked it up somewhere.”

“Well I prefer it hot.”

“Yeah, cold soup sounds weird to me.”

Rimmer seemed happier after he said that. Which was another reason Lister always fit in wherever he went; he got along with people, even if they really didn't want to get along with him. He was easygoing and charming, and always willing to accommodate others' feelings. To a certain point. In the past Rimmer had certainly tested his limits.

Currently, Rimmer was already in bed, with the blue-collared cat kneading and drooling on his thighs as he tried to finish reading his book over it. It turned around and rubbed its head on the corner of the book. “Not now, Leon,” Rimmer grumbled at the fussing feline and pushed it gently away.

“Leon?” said Lister quizzically.

“Ah!” Rimmer buried his head into the pages. “I didn't say anything.”

“You called that kitten 'Leon'.” Lister squinted at him. "You named my cats?”

“It’s not like I wanted to, I had to. The vet required names at registration. I was put on the spot.”

“But Leon? Why Leon?”

“No particular reason. It was simply what came to mind.”

“And the others?”

“Can't remember.”

“Rimmer!”

“Alright, alright…” Rimmer grimaced at him guiltily. “They’re Alexander, Wellington and Joan of Arc.”

Lister inhaled deeply and counted to five in his mind before asking the question he already knew the answer to: “Leon's short for Napoleon, isn't it?"

“It is.” Rimmer anxiously bit his fist from the anticipation of Lister's reaction. 

“How could you, man? You named my cats after warmongers of all smegging things?!”

“I told you, it was the first thing I thought of. I didn't have time to go through a baby name book.”

“You could've at least chosen something you thought I'd like seeing as they're my cats.”

“I'm not going to the vet with cats named Beer, Vindaloo, Zero-G and Rastabilly Skank.”

Lister paused in his ranting from surprise. He hadn’t realised Rimmer knew him so well. All the more reason he was annoyed that he hadn't chosen names like that. He conceded. “Fine. Wellington is a cute name for a cat at least. Who’s who?”

“What makes you think I’d know?”

“You’ve given them different colour collars to tell them apart. Only reason can be because you want to. And you’re anal like that.”

Rimmer laughed softly. “I’m that easy to read, hmm? Very well. Blue is Leon as you know. Red is Frankenstein. Pink for Wellington, green for Joan and purple for Alexander.”

“Wellington’s a girl?”

Rimmer gasped. “Lister, how incredibly sexist of you to presume a cat with a pink collar is female.”

“But she is though, be honest.”

“She is indeed. If I’d thought about it properly I could have thought of another woman warrior like Boudicca but as I say I was stuck for time.”

“Nah, you’d have only gotten into arguments with other nerds about how to pronounce it.”

“There is that.” Rimmer was suddenly gripped by a yawn and he took it as a clear sign that it was time to put the book away. Leon was an immovable object, however, and dug his claws in with a solicitous purr when Rimmer tried to push him off again. The tired man gave up.

Lister sat on his bed and struggled one-handed with a fresh plaster for his finger whilst Rimmer observed in amusement. "Stop smiling and help me, Smeghead."

“How is it now?”

“Scabbed good. Probably only needs a plaster overnight and fresh air tomorrow and it'll be sound as a dollarpound. If I can open this smegging packet.”

Rimmer shook his head at him. “Hand it over before you wreck it any further.”

Lister handed him the package, soft and crumpled from where he had tried to rip it open with his teeth. Rimmer wrapped his finger once again, as neat as a pin. Lister cocked his head. “You've got a soft touch when you want.”

“And you're touched in the head.”

“I was complimenting yer.”

“Oh really,” was his toneless reply.

Lister didn't know why Rimmer, who quite obviously had a praise kink when it came to almost everyone else, absolutely detested kind words from him. He would have torn into him about it, if Rimmer hadn't pulled Lister's hand to his mouth and kissed the sore finger. 

“What?” asked Rimmer when Lister gawked at him.

“Uh…”

“Merely a preventative measure. You'll pester me all night about it otherwise.”

Lister's mind – previously blanked from shock – bloomed into colour as his memory kicked in. “Oh, you're talking about earlier,” he said sheepishly. “Actually I'd forgotten about the finger-kiss thing.”

Leon flew off the bed with a squeak when Rimmer turned over and yanked his blanket over his head, moaning loudly from embarrassment.

“Night then,” said Lister trying to awkwardly laugh off the situation. However, a few hours later he was still having trouble sleeping.

He had never been one for falling asleep on the same day that he had woken up, but this was a different kind of restlessness. Rimmer had kissed his hand in one way or another three times now. The second time was of his own machinations and this third was also partly his fault. The first had been a simple case of mistaken identity during a dream.

That didn't make him feel any less strange about it. He was starting to realise the blur of work and home life was going to be even more difficult than before. Rimmer was effectively his boss and landlord in one, but he was also a friend, maybe, and a roommate. It wasn't like on the Red Dwarf with Petersen and Chen and Selby; where he could mess around and jokingly flirt with them and then they'd each walk off to their quarters and jobs and real dates or partners.

Was he worried about Rimmer taking it seriously, or worse reciprocating? The former was very likely. Rimmer had trouble with gauging humour, especially the sexually-charged kind. The latter was not so likely and Lister was relieved by that. He was still holding out for Kochanski and had no intention of starting anything long-term even if Rimmer did show interest, and that could make things very uncomfortable when it ended, especially if it was before he cleared his debt.

Maybe it was time to give Rimmer a gentle push in a different direction and Lister knew just the barmaid for the job…

**~~~**

Lister was relieved to find his finger doing well the following morning and he got on with a fresh project - an old signal lamp that was begging for him to fix it and turn it into a porch light for the shop. Rimmer skulked around the shop silently for most of the day, still completely mortified. It was best to leave him alone in these situations. Breakfast was the last of the bread and butter, lunch was more cheap slimy noodles, and interspersed between these meals one of the men would make a T-shape with their hands at the other, and they would nod their head for 'yes please, I'm gasping for a cuppa' or shake for 'leave me alone, I'm in the restoration zone right now'.

By late afternoon, Lister was desperate for real food. “Rimmer, I'm desperate for real food,” he said.

“You can have real food by all means,” said Rimmer without looking up from working on the bed frame. “You just have to pay for it.”

“You can't live on carbs man. It's not very nutritious.”

Rimmer made a strangled noise of indignance. “Lister, you would happily live on beer, naan and vindaloo if you could. You can't possibly lecture me on what constitutes a balanced diet with a straight face.”

“Yeah, but that's me. You go to the gym an' stuff. You'll collapse one day if you're not careful.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Rimmer pushed himself up from the floor and brushed the sawdust from the kneepad he had been using for comfort. “What do you suggest?”

“How about a nice pub dinner? I'm sure Suzanne would knock a few quid off for a friend. Or maybe they've got something due to be thrown out, like your deal with Stewart.”

“What deal with Stewart?”

"That he gives you yesterday's bakes that he can't sell."

Rimmer's jaw fell. "How did you know that?"

"Pretty obvious. You never pay him, and he only does it when he's alone in the bakery."

"Yes… well…" Rimmer cleared his throat noisily. "Stewart is a special case. He owes me."

"For the bed?"

"I gave them a discount. I also have a running tab at the hardware store."

Lister frowned. That didn't add up at all. Rimmer must have run through far more than the cost of the bed over the months. "How much have you racked up versus the cost of a bed restoration?"

"Frankly, Listy, it's not any of your business how I conduct my… business. The name above the door is 'Rimmer's Restoration', not 'Meddling Scouser and Co.', so butt out."

"Smeg man, I'm not in the mood for this. You're only getting arsy because you're hangry. We both are."

"Hangry?"

"Hungry-angry. Angry because you're hungry."

Rimmer opened his mouth to protest this observation but his rumbling stomach betrayed him. Lister laughed, but ultimately he felt sorry for him. Although he seemed brighter by smiling more often, he didn't look well these days. Rimmer had always had a lanky gangling figure and losing several pounds had emphasised that.

"C'mon mate," Lister said kindly, laying a warm hand on his arm. "Slap-up meal now and then will do you good."

"Very well," said Rimmer, as his tummy groaned again at the mention of food. "Off to the pub we go."


End file.
